Ma mère qui m'a nourri, n'a jamais connu mon nom
by AmadErik
Summary: Erik"s Childhood memories with his mother. Leroux based, my own interpretation.
1. Mother's Birthday

_Rouen, 18_ _th_ _April, 1837_

It was Mother's Birthday.

The sun was brightly shining, and he could hear the birds chirping on the branch near the roof. He was sitting on the edge of the bed that was considered as his, playfully tapping the headboard with his long skeletal fingers. He did not have an own room, as Mother never declared that room was for him, but he was always sent or locked in that room if Mother did not want to see him anymore during the day, so it was the closest to an own room.

It was Mother's Birthday, and he loved that day for one reason. That was the day of the year when she was as happy as never on any other days. That occasion was always awaited, both by Mother, and secretly him as well. He could see her happy at last. This day was even more important than Christmas itself. Mother was taking preparations. In the past few days, she was cleaning, dusting, ironing, washing, waxing the floor and cooking and baking. The whole kitchen was filled with delicious smells of freshly baked chocolate cake and apple sauce. The boy licked his mouth that was covered by his white cloth mask, and sniffed in the air for some minutes. The smell made him happy and eager at the same time. Maybe this one time he will receive a slice of cake? Was Mother cleaning and cooking because she wanted to spend a happy day with him? Will they spend a day together finally, in peace and love? Like a real mother and child?

It was time to get prepared then. Lunch is being served, he shall not be late to make Mother angry and disappointed.

The boy jumped off of the bed and walked to the wardrobe. He opened the drawer in which Mother was keeping his clothes, and he picked out an elegant dark blue waistcoat that was embroidered with yellow leaf pattern, and a black coat that had the nicest buttons he could imagine. He usually whined about collars and cravats when Mother forced them on him on Christmas day or on Sundays, but now he was happy to put on a white collar and a black cravat to be the most elegantly dressed boy for Mother's liking. He looked like a little gentleman, contrary to his starved frame and enormously long bony fingers. He had even the urge to brush his messy dark hair to make a better impression.

Her joyful humming filled the hall as she was walking back and forth between the kitchen and dining room to serve lunch. The boy put on his finest shoes for the last step, and rubbed his handkerchief against the buckle to make it shine. He then pressed the doorknob and proudly walked downstairs and sat down to the table. He knew nothing about etiquette regarding where to sit, so he accidentally took a seat at the main place. He was patiently waiting for Mother to join him and was examining the finest china they had. Mother only used it on Christmas, Easter and her Birthday. His was never celebrated, yet he knew when it was, because Mother angrily yelled at him that his Birth date was fitting, as such a Monster could only be born on every leap- year. Even if February 29 showed up in the calendar, Mother still refused to acknowledge its presence, so the only Birthday he ever saw celebrated was Mother's.

He was preparing to say a speech when Mother arrives in the room. He did not exactly know what to say other than wishing her a Happy Birthday, but he was trying to collect his thoughts. He was thinking about Mother's beautiful young face, her dark wavy thick hair that framed her pale, but symmetric face like a frame did the most beautiful and stunning painting. Her brown eyes that reflected so much sadness mostly, but sometimes lit up with joy, and her lips like cherry. She was a work of art. All her body reflected symmetry, beauty, gracefulness and elegance.

" _Mother, you are as beautiful as a work of art, you are like sunlight, when you step in a room, it gets lit up, as your face shines with God's love. You are the most sublime of women and I want to wish you a Happy Birthday_."

He finally made up his speech and his heart pounded in his ear and his deformed small face blushed bright red under the mask in excitement when he noticed the beloved and so much desired being getting closer and closer.

As she stepped in to put the soup bowl to the center of the table and noticed the thing at the main seat, she gasped.

\- How dare you sit there? – She nearly dropped the bowl filled with hot onion soup. – Get thee gone from there. – She added not too kindly.

\- I beg your pardon. – He stood up and waited for her order regarding where he shall take a seat then.

\- I have forgotten about you. – She admitted after a time, while she served the silverware, not looking directly at him. – Are you hungry? – She inquired out of routine.

\- Yes, I am. – The boy admitted.

\- Wait till I am finished with the preparations. – She sighed. – Then I give you a few croutons that we won't need for the soup here.

\- Who is we? – He asked softly.

\- That's none of your business. I am waiting for guests, so you will stay in the cellar until they leave.

\- But I thought…

\- What?

\- I thought you will eat with me that is why you are preparing.

\- You? – She laughed out loud to this kind of nonsense.

\- I have put on my finest clothes to look good on your Birthday. – He admitted.

\- Oh, you… you stupid thing… - She looked at the child at last, to examine how he looked. – You put on those clothes so that I have more things to wash and iron. You cause nothing but work and on Earth gave you the impression that I want to eat lunch with you on my Birthday, when I don't want to eat lunch with you on any other day either? – She barked. – Have you forgotten you are not allowed to sit at the table? You always eat in your room.

\- I thought it was now allowed to, being a celebration. – He whispered.

\- Look, I have no time to chit-chat with you. Go and take off those clothes before you sweat them through, and walk down to the cellar. I am going to take you some food down to you when I am free. And don't even think of coming up, as if you dare to do so, you shall receive what you deserve after.

\- Yes, Mother. – He nodded and dragged himself back upstairs to change, but before he walked to the cellar door, he thought of something. He returned to Mother and looked at her with a hopeful expression.

\- Are you still here? What do you want? – Geneviéve started to lose her patience. – How many times do I have to ask you to leave me alone and go to your place?

The small skeleton dropped on his knees in front of her and lowered his head, climbing to her feet on hands and knees and caught the hem of her dress.

\- Please mother, let your poor son eat with you once in his life! Please don't send him down to that cold and dark place! He is afraid down there! – He begged.

\- Stop it! – Geneviéve backed a few steps away, but the bony fingers were still clinging to her dress.

\- Mother, have mercy! He would so like to see your beautiful face in front of him while you have lunch… it would be so pleasant… I know I don't deserve it… if you insist I am not going to eat so I won't have to lift the mask… - He was shaken by sobs bursting up from his small chest, and he was pulling the soft material close to himself, as he was afraid he was going to lose Mother forever if he lets the dress go.

\- Stop it, you small monster, or I will lock you up in the cellar for the rest of your miserable life and you shall never ever come up again to see me! – She yelled at him and ripped her skirt out of his grip, then sent a forceful kick in that bony side.

She was so much disgusted of this pleading and crawling of that small idiot, he was honestly acting as a worm, and he looked like one, to begin with. The masked thing was rubbing his side for a few seconds, trying to breathe normally, contrary to being in pain, and he slowly stood up to his feet. He was staring at her with tearful eyes and gasping for breath still. He did not know what to do. That sudden scene between Mother and him did make him speechless. He felt like a pot of boiling hot water was suddenly poured on him. His skin got numb and he felt he was unable to move.

\- Go away. I have no time dealing with your tantrums. The meat is going to dry out. – She stated coldly, as she hurried back in the kitchen.

The boy was standing there, shaking from a feeling he wasn't able to describe yet with his five year- old mind. All of a sudden, Bisous appeared in the room. That small disgusting overbred lap-dog of Mother. She was wearing a pink ribbon in her goddamned neck. How he loathed that idiot thing. It was a small shoe- cleaner carpet cruiser. She was small, fat and spoiled. She looked her mouth with delight, indicating that she just gobbled up some treat from Mother's hands. Yes, Bisous was allowed to eat with Mother. She had leftovers from meals, which is why she was so fat. A few more years and she was going to roll around rather than walk around. But the worst thing wasn't that fact, but that Mother absolutely ADORED her.

Bisous had an own armchair. She was allowed to sleep on the couch. She was shown to visitors with pride. She was petted, hugged, and _kissed_. Mother would give her kisses all over her disgusting furry face, she did not mind if the ugly thing licked her face in return. On the contrary, she encouraged her to do so. She was calling her " _My little Princess, my love, my dear_ ", and many more kind and sweet names.

He, however, only was allowed to sit in his room, sleep on that bed or in the cellar, had to retreat to the cellar if visitors came, sometimes for days, and he never received a single kiss from Mother. The only thing he got now was only a kick. He was called a monster, an idiot, a skeleton, a living dead, a corpse, a bastard, and anything but nice and clever by Mother. He never had anything delicious to eat from those leftovers, he mostly had to eat some bread with warm milk (how he loathed milk, even the smell made him gag), milk and rice, bread and butter, vegetable dishes, or sometimes, toast.

Well, the small pest arrived at his feet, growling at him, just as she was also sending him away. Now even YOU growl at me? Well, then, you will receive just what you deserve, you fat bastard!

The boy kicked the dog in the side just as violently as Mother kicked him before. That small rat flew across the whole room! He was so delighted to see that, as finally he was able to repay some of his pain that small thing had caused him. He even let out a small delighted chuckle, up until he felt an enormous slap that sent him to the wall.

\- How dare you?! – Geneviéve grabbed him and shook him so hard he thought he was going to lose his whole head as it will fall down. He received some slaps and he was dragged to the cellar door, pushed inside with a forceful kick in his rear and the door got slammed after him, and the key turned in the lock.

Of course, he should have expected something like this would happen. Mother could have killed the person who hurt her beloved Bisous. With a painful moan, he rose to his feet and walked to the end of the room where a wooden chair and small table were put for him, with a mattress on the floor, covered with some quite used blankets. In the other corner he had a basin with some folded towels, soap and a huge pitcher of water for washing himself, and a chamber pot for his natural needs. On the top of the table there was an oil lamp with a pile of books he had the fortune to carry down with him the last time he was sent down here. He lit the lamp and started to read to ease his pain and loneliness.

This was the thing he hated about Mother's special day – no matter what he did, no matter how he acted, whether he committed good or bad things, he ended up down there the same way. In tales, they say that good acts deserve a reward – he never got a reward if he was a good boy. He did not wish for huge and pricey things – only Mother's love and acceptance.

Not too much later, he heard the so happily awaited visitor arrived. It was a man, and Mother called him George. It was his Uncle. He knew him already by the voice, but he never saw him. He heard laughter, happy chatting and kisses as Mother led Uncle to the dining room. She was totally changed. She had the best mood ever, not even thinking of him anymore. His stomach growled with hunger. He hadn't eaten anything yet that day. Mother did not come down to him with any food, contrary to her promises. Maybe he was in punishment and he won't get anything at all. Those joyful laughs bothered him, and he couldn't concentrate on reading that book about Newton's physics because of those happy laughs, sounds of glasses getting clinked together, smell of food finding its way through the cellar door, and his growing hunger. He knew that he was nonexistent to the world other than Mother. Uncle George should never know about him, as Mother is ashamed of her own son. He was ugly and did not deserve to have a Birthday meal with Mother. She invited her brother, but not her son. He was unwanted, unneeded, unloved and a shame upon Mother's name.

\- May that soup and meat stick in your throats. – He murmured softly, while wiping off some of his tears. He was now allowed to remove the mask: no one saw him down there. – I won't invite you to my Birthdays either, Mother. – He went on angrily.

Hours flew to Geneviéve, but spent awfully slow to the young boy. As time passed down in the cellar, and he could hear Uncle had already left, and the front door closed behind him, but he wasn't let out still, he got afraid he might have really stuck in the cellar for his entire life. In the evening, Mother opened the door to throw some bread down at him, but she locked the door again, not waiting for an answer. Yes, he was punished. He had to stay down even after Uncle left – because Mother did not want him around in the house. He knew it was because he hurt Bisous. He started feeling sorry for the thing, as she was hated by him just as Mother loathed his presence. He knew it was a horrible feeling, so he decided he will ask for Bisous's forgiveness if he will be ever let upstairs.

Mother had at least a happy day. He should be happy for her instead of being jealous. Uncle gave her that happiness he could never give, no matter how hard he was trying.

He closed his eyes and imagined for some moments that Mother came down to him, and smiled at him, genuinely, out of her heart. She said " _Good night son_." She held him close to herself, and gave him a kiss on his cheek before opening his eyes again. The cellar, of course, was empty and Mother did not kiss him good night. At least, he could wish her that, no matter if she hears it or not.

\- Good night, and Happy Birthday Mother. – He whispered in front of himself at the end of the day when he climbed under the blanket on his mattress to slowly cry himself to sleep.


	2. Mindless Little Creature

The small unwanted thing crawled and staggered around in the room, around her, constantly. It was unnecessary to send it away. It did not understand anything which was said to it. Maybe the disfigurement did not stop at the stomach-turning looks of the boy, which was at least easy to cover by that hap-hazardly sewn mask. The bigger problems lay beneath the outside deformity.

Geneviéve could not figure out why the thing did not react to her orders. Maybe because it was deaf or simply, an idiot. All he was doing all day was mindlessly, totally absently staring from under the mask with his ugly yellow eyes, and following her like an annoying small shadow. She felt she had two pets: Bisous, the cute lap dog she would pet endlessly, and that masked corpse baby she often only dared to examine from the corner of her eyes.

She wondered if she did something wrong. It did not come to her mind often, as she, to be honest, liked to pity herself rather than admitting she had done something wrong, blmaing everyone else than herself for her current situation. She knew that she should have paid more attention to the… child, or what. She literally only provided the bare necessities for it. Feeding, cleaning and keeping it warm by putting clothes on it. The clothes, though weren't the ones she once bought in a sudden shopping fit at an expensive clothes shop in Paris when she visited the capital city with her husband once, during the beginning of her pregnancy. Oh how Maurice laughed at her when he saw she bought clothes that would even fit a 2 year- old… but those expensive clothes were too beautiful for a small demon like him. He would instantly throw up on them or had a runny nose on them, making them a sticky mess, just as he did with that simple white linen shirt she put on him. She had to wash the masks regularly, it happened she had to change the masks on him in every three hours as he had a runny nose, without even having one. Also, he was drooling constantly, maybe because of the lip deformity it shall she bother to dress that mess? That mindless little thing?

She was sure it wasn't developing normally, as she heard the fact any two year old would start to at least say some simple words. He did not. He was merely pointing at things and whimpering. She maybe should have bothered to teach him to talk, but she felt it was useless. If he does not understand what she says, how could he learn anything? He will just depend on her in all his miserable existence, during which she will constantly have to clean him and feed him, even if he will have the misfortune to grow up. She at least hoped she won't live long enough to see this horrid thing as an adult. All of the situation seemed to be so stressful, she felt so helpless…

She had the urge to cry yet again. How this little monster is making her a nervous wreck, slowly, is rather devastating. She used to be a happy, strong and confident woman before the skull head was born. And since that, and the death of the two most impostant people in her life: her husband and her beautiful newborn girl, which both were caused by this small monster's arrival, she would not stop crying and feeling depressed all day. It was more than two years ago…

When will it stop?

No, she won't ask the little monster when he will die finally. No need to, he won't react. He never does. He does not understand what a burden he is.

She forcefully wished to interrupt her thoughts which will most likely send her to sobs shortly, so she just walked to her old piano. It was a long time ago she played it, as she did not feel like it. But now she simply needed something to occupy her mind with. She liked music. She used to like it, at least. Caressing the keys, she started hitting a few notes and accords on the instrument, and finally, without thinking, she played some of the pieces she learned in her childhood. How Papa and Mama were proud of her when she showed a piece that was finally learned…

Playing was interrupted by a strange noise. Partly it was the usual wheezing sound of her monstrous offspring, as his nose was stuffed yet again. She tried not to pay attention to it and enjoy the music without distraction, but there was another noise… the boy was hitting the wooden floor to rhythm.

Geneviéve had to turn around to realize the boy was hitting to the perfect rhythm of the piece. He seemed to giggle while it and when Geneviéve stopped, so did he. The mother was speechless for a time, examining the thing with a growing interest, once in their lives together. She started playing different rhythm patterns, out of curiousy, and the boy followed after listening, imitating them perfectly.

\- Can you hear? - Geneviéve asked, directly from her son, the first time in maybe days. She did not really address him before… maybe she could try?

She sat down in front of the small corpse, on the floor and started talking to him… rather officially, but at least, it was something.

\- You seem to like music. I never thought you could hear it. Do you enjoy it…? Oh… maybe will you be able to talk, mindless little creature… all right… say… say… Mama…?


	3. Hands

\- Come here.

The woman's strict, but otherwise nice sounding voice filled the abandoned room where the boy was sitting in front of the small table by the window. It was "his room" in the house. Other children liked if they had an own room, and many children were dreaming of getting one, instead of living with one or more siblings in the same room, but they sure never knew the feeling to be separated from the rest of their family for long days. Mother did not like if he was a bother, so he was only welcome to leave the room when it was utterly necessary.

Now, as well, he had been working there for three hours by far, and even before he wasn't allowed to go outside. Three hours and he started to be hungry. He hoped that at last, Mother will be satisfied with the outcome. It was the fourth time he had to rewrite it. The young masked boy walked to the door frame to show his work to Mother, and to be hopefully dismissed from house arrest. He wanted to leave this room so much already, he was literally sick of having to stare at the same surroundings hour after hour. Depending on Mother's mood, he wasn't even always allowed to go out to the garden to use the outhouse, so he had a chamber pot in with him. He was allowed to go out to the garden sometimes, especially to pump water and bring it in, or to prepare firewood. He was the man of the house, after all… the only boy in the household, even though he was only six. He really hoped he will be able to go outside for a bit to run around in the garden, he was sick of sitting in the same damned chair for hours. He was in need of fresh air and something to finally occupy his mind from writing lesson. How he hated it! Now housework seemed tempting as well. Do you need any water, Mother?

\- Here it is. – The small skeletal hand reached out a paper written on, fully, from the top to bottom.

\- What is it, yet again? – Mother sighed with frustration upon examining it for a few seconds. – How many times I have to tell you: keep a margin! What do these letters look like? I can't read a single word of your scratching!

\- I tried, Mother. – The boy explained.

\- Trying is too little! You have to do it! Look at this!

She held the paper in front of the cloth mask, very close to the boy's ugly jaundice affected, sickly yellow colored eyes which shone at her with pure frustration right now. He felt his hands started trembling, and he swallowed from uncomfortable feelings taking over him. It is going to start… soon… three… two… one…

\- You rewrite that again! – The woman ordered. – And you sit here until I am satisfied with it! It is ugly, do you understand? Just as ugly as you are!

She threw the paper to the ground and stomped on it by full force, then turned around and left the boy there alone, standing at the doorway.

Three hours, four papers teared to pieces. Working for literally nothing. He now started to understand what "work of Sisyphus" meant. The sun was starting to set. One more time we have to try. One more time and maybe it will be better. He sat down again, with a tired sigh, putting a nice blank sheet in front of himself, pulling the plug out of the ink bottle, containing that black fluid he liked to use to drown flies in the most, not for writing. Those items of torture were again in front of him. These fountain pens also had a disgusting habit of breaking in half and writing double letters. His left hand's side was always inky, no matter how he tried to take care of not to get ink on it, and this is why the letters were also smudged. They looked bad enough without smudging too, but he literally could not figure out how to write with his other hand, the writing turned out even more atrocious when he wrote with his right.

" _Hail Mary full of Grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed are thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb…_ "

What a text, really. At least Mother could explain what these hard words mean, like fruit of the womb. Is it edible like any of the other fruits like apple? There is an apple tree at the neighbor's garden, he liked to climb on it when he had the opportunity to finally go outside, and steal some apples. But he had never seen a womb tree, how can it look like? Oh, no, he would better not to start daydreaming. It only takes time and he shall finish soon.

As beautifully as possible, he finished the prayer, paying attention to the goddamned margin as well, and it looked better, as he was able to object it. Now he had to wait for Mother to come back to check it. He wasn't allowed to call out to her, not to disturb her. He was impatiently playing drums on the edge of the table, waiting for Mother's arrival.

Finally she called out.

\- Are you done?

\- Yes, Mother. – He stood up and carried the paper to his mother yet again.

The woman examined it, and though, she found it better than the others, she still wasn't satisfied… and… she suspected the boy was yet again misbehaving.

\- Which hand you used? – She asked strictly.

Silence. The boy knew he wasn't supposed to tell the truth, as it will result in a few hits on his left palm by that awful thin cane. His disfigured lips were shaking beneath the mask, then he softly said:

\- Right.

\- You little liar bastard! – The woman slapped him with the paper, as she was too much disgusted by the thought of slapping that ugly face even through the mask. – I have told you many times: I can't be fooled. I am not as stupid as you are! Which hand did you use, you little monster?

\- Left. – He admitted, already shaking with fear.

\- What did I tell you before?

\- Left hand is used by the devil. – The boy repeated monotonously, as he got to learn some text.

\- Show your left. – The woman ordered dryly.

The skeletal hand rose in the air, and he just inhaled deeply through his nose. He found out already that if he did this, the hit was about to hurt much less. He did not yet know why, but he had his experiences about it. Yet, a sudden idea hit him as Mother raised the stick into the air to strike.

\- If you hit my hand I can't play the piano. – The boy said softly.

Geneviéve's hand froze mid-step in the air, holding the stick. She looked at her son with disbelief. The thing never worded such a thing before.

\- What did you say? – She asked. Her voice wasn't angry at this time.

\- I can't play if my hand hurts. You hit it to hurt. I can't use it for days.

Geneviéve felt something he rarely felt towards the boy: respect. And a hint of pity. The child dared to ask her not to hit him for misbehaving, even though he could not know it if it was about to result in another beating, maybe a more serious one.

\- If I don't hit you, will you practice double tomorrow? – Geneviéve put her hand on her hip and looked at the boy strictly.

\- Even more. – The boy nodded. – Three hours instead of one. For two weeks.

\- But you are whining about three hours of writing. How could you practice three hours on the piano?

\- I can. – The masked child stated. – I will.

\- But if you don't, and you just said so to avoid a beating, you know what will come your way, for lying to me and being so sly, do you know?

\- Yes, I do. A beating with belt. – He nodded.

\- And you will be locked in the cellar for a week. – The Mother corrected.

\- Yes.

\- Do you still wish me not to hit now and will rather practice more as you said?

\- Yes.

Geneviéve shrugged and replaced the cane next to the wall in the corner where it belonged to. It wasn't ever hidden, as maybe the child will not commit sins if he sees it is lying around always, ready for use.

\- Tomorrow you are going to receive Bach's Minuets in a sheet music. Take good care of them, as if you dare to ruin the book I will lock you out of the house and you will have to sleep in the outhouse. And if you dare to stand up from the piano bench before three hours pass, you get what you deserve. Understood?

\- Yes, Mother.

Geneviéve did not reply, only left the boy there in the room. She did not order him to write the prayer again. It is useless. Those ugly hands can never write something beautiful.

She wasn't sure if the thing will make up to its promise, but she had to admit he was getting better and better with piano playing. He was playing for two years and he already played pieces which were intended for much older children, or sometimes, adults. It was really nice to listen to. At least the boy was good at one thing and could cause her happy moments from time to time. It was even more shocking that the boy seemingly learned by himself, or looked like he already knew what to do for some reason. All she had to teach him was how to read sheet music and how to pay attention to fingering, and those stick – like bony fingers, even though they were small yet, were wandering on the keyboard with more and more safety. He was yet too young to reach through an octave, but he was able to lift and place his hand up and down so quickly it was hardly noticeable he did not play the two notes at once. She never knew how he did it.

Maybe is he good for something at least…?


	4. Boy's Birthday

February, 1836

Mother acted strangely in the past few days. She looked to be excited, and happy, which was unusual of her. She smiled and hummed while she was doing housework, and she even did not always send Him away. She tolerated his presence more, and involuntarily talked to him. Not about him, of course, she just shared her ideas with the boy, who was thankful for such a peace at home, so he just agreed about everything. He did not even understand most of the words he heard, for example "Birthday" "gift" and "celebration". Or… yes he understood the word "Birthday", but it did not mean anything good to him, as Mother had Birthdays when he was locked in the cellar not to meet "Uncle". But at that time, Mother did not speak of her Birthday, but she wanted to buy gift for someone else's.

Boy learned to speak not too long time ago, and he did not have too wide vocabulary yet, but he tried to communicate with Mother about these unknown issues, so he asked:

\- Birthday is what?

\- A celebration. Everyone has it once a year.

\- Boy too?

\- No, Boy was born on a day not happening in every year. On leap year. Boy has Birthday in every four years.

\- Boy is four years old. You said.

\- Yes, this is why you have the first Birthday. You and… someone else.

\- What Birthday gift have Someone Else?

\- I don't know yet. – Mother replied. – Something nice a little girl would love.

\- Girl is who? – The boy leaned closer with interest, but Mother tossed him a bit further from herself. Boy was too close for her taste.

\- Do not drool on my embroidery!

\- Sorry. – Boy closed his eyes, feeling the magic breaking between them.

\- You can't do any better. – Mother shook her head a bit forgivingly. – You are just like that. You always drool and mess everything you touch.

Boy looked at his hands and he could see his hands still weren't like Mother's. His hands were smaller but way thinner and yellow. He looked up at Mother and asked again.

\- I not know Girl is here. Boy is here only, no? Boy and Mother.

\- Don't dare to put yourself in front of me. – Mother barked angrily. – "Mother and Boy." But no. Girl is not here. Suzanne… oh my sweet Suzanne. – Mother cried again, but in a few minutes she looked up, smiling through her tears, which was a beautiful sight, like a rainbow.

Boy did not hear the word "Suzanne" before either, so he did not really know what to think about it, so he just waited for something else to happen. He did not have to wait for nothing, as something really happened. Mother looked at him from her own will for more than a few seconds and she addressed him with a question.

\- It will be your Birthday as well. Once we can… could… maybe… so do you want anything?

\- Boy not understand. – He admitted shyly.

\- I give you something if you want. – Mother tried to talk easier so he will understand.

\- Yes. Want. – Boy nodded eagerly, understanding the matter finally.

\- What do you want to get? I will give you any kind of toy you want. It will be righteous not to forget about you. If Suzanne gets something, you shall as well… you were born on the same day.

\- Boy wants to get a nose. – He replied.

\- A what? – Mother gasped.

\- Nose. – Boy pointed at his mask where his nose should have been, and at Mother, who had a nose on her face. He could not even touch what should have been there, but he could already partly understand something was missing from there, and Mother mentioned it many times as well, so he memorized it.

\- I can't give you a nose. – Mother sighed. – Ask something else.

\- No nose for boy?

\- No.

\- Will it grow? I sprinkle water on it. You sprinkle water on flower. Flower grows. Nose not.

\- Are you really this stupid, or are you mocking me?

\- Stupid. – Boy replied as he did not even know what mocking meant, but he was called stupid many times, so he assumed it to be one of his names.

\- Well, you will never have a nose. It is something you won't ever receive from me or from others. But I can buy you clothes for Sunday or a toy.

\- If Boy has Sunday clothes Boy will go to Mass with you?

\- No, but at least you started to ask about Mass, it is a sign you have a soul at least. I will read the Bible for you then.

\- Bible is storybook?

\- Kind of. – Mother nodded. – I go to Paris in a few days to buy you two something for your Birthday.

\- Paris is what?

\- A city. I can't buy anything here, in this village. So provincial.

\- Boy accompanies you to Paris?

\- No. Boy stays here.

\- Alone? – Boy looked at her desperately, being afraid already of the possibility.

\- Yes. Like when I go to Mass, it will be longer time, but I will come back. You stay here and try to act like you were capable of being good.

\- Do not go and leave Boy alone he is afraid.

\- I noticed. You can't always be afraid. You have to learn to be alone.

\- Why?

\- This is what happens to you when you grow older. Who would want to be with you anyway?

\- Boy is afraid. – He repeated.

\- Then be afraid as you wish. – Mother shrugged. – But if you dare to wet yourself again like last time, I am going to make you stay in your clothes and you will sleep in the cellar, understood?

\- Yes. – He nodded.

\- But you will get something for your Birthday.

Mother got tired of the conversation with Boy, and she left the room, just as gracefully as always, but from the doorframe she turned back to look at him again.

\- Do not follow me around now, I need peace from you.

Days passed. Boy forgot about the conversation with Mother already and he was sitting at the piano, trying to figure out how to play a small piece by Rameau, when Mother wished to go out of the door, fully dressed.

Boy was a fast runner. He jumped off of the piano chair and ran after Mother, but the door got shut right in front of him, and Mother locked it, just as always when she went to Mass. He was alone again, wandering around in the house, but this time he wasn't locked in the room where he was usually kept while Mother was away, so he could at least explore the rooms he was mostly sent out from. He was amazed by the many things Mother had, and he found many toys to meddle with. Everything was a toy between his curious little skeletal hands, and he wanted to experiment. He was always a man of science, even when he did not know what the word meant at all. He found small bottles filled with various colored liquids on a table in Mother's bedroom, and when he put off the lid of the pink one he noticed a small brush. He knew about drawing and painting already so he was excited to find out he found paints. Or so he thought. He could find no paper to work on this time but he already had a nice picture in his mind he wished to paint for Mother… he guessed the wooden wall covering will do…

After the picture was made, he just threw the half empty bottle on the floor, caring nothing of it any more. He wasn't careful enough so his hands got dirty just as always. He left a few fingerprints on the banister and the doors he opened, but come on, we have hands for a reason… and these paints were strange as water did not get them off.

Boy went on exploring the house and pulled out every single drawer, looked at every possible piece of clothing, every small handkerchief Mother owned. One of them smelled like Mother's perfume, it was so relaxing to sniff on it. When he accidentally got close enough to Mother, he could always feel that scent and it always made him happy. He tucked the handkerchief in his shirt, to have Mother's scent with him always. Maybe if he can sniff on it before bedtime, the Bag Man won1t come to take him. Or the Outsiders.

Mother always talked to him about the Outsiders, the people who lived outside of this house. They were very dangerous people and they were never allowed to enter the house and Boy wasn't allowed to go outside of the house, because the Outsiders will see him and will hit him or kill him, and they will most likely hurt Mother. He shall never get Mother in danger by going outside. It was told to him nearly every day since he learned to walk. The furthest he ever went was the garden gate. Mother took him outside after sunset to be on fresh air and he was allowed to spend time in the garden.

So, he was terribly afraid of the outsiders and had some nightmares about huge Outsider men coming to the house and hit Mother. He always wet the bed when it happened and Mother was very angry with him then. She called him disgusting, pig, filthy, and many more things.

Yet those names were nothing compared to the new names the boy learned from Mother a decade later when she finally arrived home. Mother called him by a new name, which he never heard so far, it was "bastard", and her head got red while she was screaming. Usually when Mother was angry, Boy was scared and ran to hide somewhere, but the sight of Mother with a red head and such a strange voice sent him to a fit of giggles. This was a bad choice it seems.

-You are laughing! You did it on purpose, you little disgusting freak! You monster! I give you a home and food and raise you like you were a child! A child you TOOK from me! I am here with only YU while I could have a CHILD!

Mother collapsed onto the floor on her knees, sobbing, and Boy felt he was terrible for making Mother this desperate. He crawled to her on the floor and put his small skeletal still dirty hand on Mother's arm to make her feel better. Mother did not tolerate it too much.

Boy was thrown into the cellar to spend the night there, all alone. Later in that day, the cellar door opened, and Boy thought Mother will let him out surprisingly early, but all that happened was something landed next to him on the floor.

\- Here. Your gift. Not like you deserved it but I promised. Happy Birthday you freak.

When Mother shut the Door, Boy dared to look at the thing finally. It was a toy drum. At least, hitting it around made the rest of the day a more happy and bearable one. Mother at least knew he should be happy for an instrument.

The next day, when Boy was finally let out of the cellar, he noticed something strange. In the salon next to Mother's chair, there was a smaller chair with a thing placed in it. He first assumed it was Bisous, the dog, but as he later found out, it was dressed in a nice dress and what he thought to be fur, it was its hair. He walked close to it, and noticed it was a small girl. He tilted his head from side to side, then reached out for it.

\- You are Girl? Suzanne? I am Boy.

The thing did not move, so Boy thought it must be asleep, though its eyes were open. Light blue eyes were staring at him while he was just trying to be polite. That thing did not even say hello to him. What an ill – mannered little bitch.

\- Boy not playing with you. – He pouted. – Girls are witches.

He wanted to show the Girl it was still him who was the man in the house, and pushed the thing backwards. The thing was cold, especially her face and arms. Getting scared of the cold material, Boy screamed and kicked the chair by full force, causing the Girl falling out of it, and even scarier thing happened…

Girl's head broke in pieces! The pale face was in front of his feet, broken, shattered… lifeless. Maybe is it like when Outsiders come inside and break someone in pieces? He heard about bones can break… maybe he just broke Girl's head bones?

From his scared musings, it was Mother's scream that woke him. She knelt down to the destroyed girl and looked at Boy with fury.

\- You destroyed Suzanne's Birthday gift you IDIOT! You monster, can't you go around without causing mischief…? You are killing me one day, you heartless worm!

She wanted to grab him by the collar and maybe spank him like she never did before, but suddenly she had a better idea and stormed down to the cellar. Boy heard a crash, and when he hurried to check what it was he saw his toy drum on the floor, broken, just like the girl was.

\- It was a pricey porcelain doll I bought for my daughter who could be still with me if you don't kill her before your birth. – Mother spat out coldly. – If you destroyed her gift, I destroy yours. Get away from me if you don't want to end up like that drum.

Boy knew it was wiser to follow Mother's commands, so he headed to his room immediately. Passing Mother, he could hear she started crying again.

It was the first and last "Birthday" the boy ever had, and he had to share that one as well with the memory of his dead sister. Mother spent a fortune on the gifts of her children's Birthday gifts which were broken on the same day.

This is why Erik hates each leap year.


	5. Holy water

22nd April, 1838

A troublesome day it has been.

Boy found out what happens when one plays drums on the flour bags for too long, then playing snowballs and jumping around in the soft white, but most importantly, warm material, which was much better than the snow in the winter. He had no idea why Mother never had the urge to have her handprints of flour-snow on the chamber walls, and why she screamed at him yet again. He thought all of the house looked much better like that. He also was a bit of distressed Mother cleaned up all his artworks and playground, she always has to ruin his fun. She was always so angry, so very serious. Of course, boy did not have to think too much to search for another game to play and to find out what happens to the chickens when someone shoots smaller rocks, then much bigger rocks at them from a slingshot, and he played many more of his usual games Mother would just call "mischief".

But the weirdest thing was yet to happen when he found out where Mother hides that strange water she keeps drinking when boy goes on her nerves or when she is crying about the absence of some kind of "Maurice, dear" she really must miss.

"Maurice dear" never appeared in the house and boy did not know who might that one be. He only heard of George, and sometimes he heard other children jumping around upstairs when he was locked in the cellar, but "Maurice dear" was a mysterious phantom figure who was just always spoken of when Mother drank enough of the water. This was the only time Mother would sing, and sometimes sing along to the music he was playing, happily. Boy was always curious how drinking water can make people be so happy, but he figured out already it was stored elsewhere and it never came from a well or the water pump, and even stranger thing was that it cost money. Mother regularly bought that water which was in a special bottle and it was extremely a secret water as it was to be hidden. Mother hid it under the bed, maybe it was holy water to keep monsters away from the bed. He had heard of holy water of course, and it was understandable why it made everyone so happy, if it was so.

Mother also told him earlier that Holy water was used at baptismal, and no matter how he received it at the day of his birth, he still is creepy and evil as the devil himself. Well, maybe the Priest did not use enough on him, and everyone knows if something isn't enough you have to use more of it for replacement. Maybe he will be better if he uses more Holy water on himself.

He already knew that baptismal is when they pour holy water on your head, so he opened the water bottle and poured some of the contents all over his head. Well, he did not think the water was so stinky. The church must be a stinky place indeed if they pour this all over everyone who happens to enter. Also it was burning his eyes and nose and he sneezed some. Maybe he does not react well to holy water as he is evil. Evil has problems with holy water, it is mentioned in the Bible. But maybe it can be used to make him a good boy. If it does not work the original way, maybe he could drink it as well, like Mother does. It maybe works better that way.

With a sudden determination he lifted up the bottle and took a huge gulp as if he was really thirsty and drinking water, but he had to realize the water did not only burn his eyes and nose, but now also his mouth. He did not know if he should spit it out or swallow it. His eyes filled with tears and he made a disgusted face, but he remembered it was a real hostile act to spit out Holy Water, so he forced it down finally. Nothing really happened for a few seconds, he guessed he will be lit by a glory now or some angel wings were about to grow on his back, just as he saw on religious paintings, but he could not feel anything on his back yet. Maybe it wasn't yet enough? How much of this liquid one should drink to be finally saved from Satan? Well, one more try and if he won't have angel wings by then either he shall give up the battle. This taste isn't worth the fuss.

One bigger sip and a forceful swallow later he was sure it wasn't the best of ideas. He felt dizzy and he had trouble standing up on his feet. He had to support himself with the aid of grabbing the bed's side and after a few tries he was able to pull himself up in a standing position, but walking was impossible. He lay down on Mother's bed, knowing he wasn't allowed to be in this room, so sleeping on that bed was beyond a sin, but he simply felt too funny to go anywhere. Stranger thing was he started laughing as funny things came to his mind and he started singing a silly little song, and used words Mother forbade him to say out loud. Of course he did say them when Mother did not hear it, and he liked to stick out his tongue at her behind her back, and now he just lay on her precious huge bed, singing cuss words out loud in a banal melody, giggling. Maybe he was just visited by the Holy Spirit.

"Holy Spirit, come and kiss it…"

He burst out in a nasty little laughter. Mother, of course could have expected he overheard her one day when she said "kiss it" to one of the villagers while heading home. He did not know why Mother said it, but the rhyme was fantastic. He wasn't even sure why it was a bad thing to say but he once received his mouth being washed out with that disgusting soapy water because of saying it, so he knew it was a bad thing. Something wasn't right then… Holy water can't make you say bad things, it must be something else, or it just works reversed on a thing like him? Maybe he is just eviler than he was before?

It could easily be the case as now he had serious urge to go and kick Bisous, or at least to throw Mother's slipper against the small furry pest. Bisous had luck he wasn't able to get out of bed…

He did not know how long it lasted, but one thing was sure. His sudden good mood was slowly turning into sickness. He did not feel angel wings growing on his back, rather he felt a strange sensation in his stomach, and his head spun… And… oh no, he made a mess all over Mother's bedsheets… oh he knew well Mother will call him disgusting for it, but why did it happen? His stomach can't handle Holy Water, it means he was really evil and can't be saved…

He was crying, knowing that God doesn't love him. He will always be so miserable, so unloved, such a bad boy…

And… miracle happened…

When Mother found him lying on her bed, in his own mess, in the company of her favorite hidden drink, she of course gasped and started yelling at him, but as she saw he was desperately crying, she STOPPED. It never happened before. She looked at him for a few seconds, wondering, then sat down… on the same bad a bit of further from him so he could not touch her, but they were on the SAME furniture.

\- What on Earth are you doing, and why are you crying? – She did not sound to be irritated this time, but rather worried.

\- Holy Water does not like the boy and Boy does not like it either. – He sobbed.

\- Holy water? – Mother gasped. – Did you think it was that?

\- I did…- The boy whined. – I wanted to be good…

\- Oh… - It was the first time Mother looked at him with a hint of compassion over a stupid act and not anger or wild fit of temper. – You boy, swear to God you said the truth. – She looked at him strictly, but forgivingly. – Tell me I can believe you this time.

\- I was… honest… Mother. – He sniffed, and sent Mother such an innocent look that the woman had no urge to hurt him anymore.

\- If it is true then I have to show you how to be better if you really want to be good. Promise you will try to be a good boy when I show you how.

\- I promise. – He whispered.

\- All right, now try to get up. – She sighed and shook her head with an indulgent smile all over her face.

\- I won't be… punished…? – He inquired cautiously. – Beaten…?

\- No. – She lowered her head. – You weren't mean this time, only stupid. But you are just a stupid child. How could you know any better? I… I don't really care about what are you doing, mostly. Maybe I could pour some common sense in your head if I try to teach you to more things.

The boy did not really understand what was going on right at that moment, but he was happy he wasn't beaten this time, he was thankful as he was feeling rather ill anyways. Mother reluctantly allowed him to cling into her arm to be able to walk to his room and lay down to sleep.

Mother turned away to leave to clean up the mess he made in the bedroom, but before leaving, she called out to her son for a last time.

\- Rest. Today you don't have to do housework, but after you feel well enough, say a prayer, as I taught you. And on Sunday I will take you somewhere where you can learn how to be good.


	6. Closer to God

29th April, 1838, Sunday

Mother was restlessly walking up and down in the salon, and ordered Boy to dress up in Sunday clothes. Boy never understood why he had to dress up nicely when only Mother went somewhere, where he was never taken, but he had his job as well. He had to read a part of the Bible by the time Mother had arrived home and he had to tell her what it was about. Mother then handed him his lunch and told him to go away and it was Sunday, always. But now when Boy arrived down to the hall, Mother walked to him and announced

\- We are leaving soon. If you need to do your business, do it now, as I am not coming back or stopping anywhere after we left.

\- What does it mean we are leaving? – Boy asked with surprise.

\- We are not going to be home for a while.

\- We go further than the garden?

\- Yes.

\- Including Boy? He is allowed to go out to the streets?

\- Yes, but you have to do exactly what I say, because if you misbehave I will never take you anywhere again.

\- I will do what you say, Mother. – Boy's eyes lit up, as he was legally allowed to go somewhere with Mother. It was the happiest day of his life so far! Mother takes him outside at daylight! Does it mean she likes him?

\- Do you promise? – Mother looked at him in the eye. – Please understand it is dangerous what we do now. But we have to do it.

\- Dangerous?

\- Yes, if you misbehave or remove the mask, it is dangerous to me and you as well. You have seen it in the mirror what is behind the mask. – Mother pointed at him.

She wouldn't have needed to remind him. He did not even dare to remove the mask for bedtime nowadays and he bathed with it since he accidentally saw his reflection in the mirror when he removed the mask a few months earlier. He needed a few seconds to realize it was his own face but when the horrid figure in front of him moved just like he did… he finally understood why he had to wear a mask. He was frightened by his own face, terribly… and now that Mother warned him it was dangerous to go around without a mask, his eyes filled up with tears of insecurity and sadness. Of course, Boy wasn't old enough yet to word these feelings, he simply whimpered he was scared.

\- Don't be afraid. – Mother was unusually kind and encouraging. – God shall protect us. – She sent a kind smile towards Boy, which was utterly unusual, she would mostly only smile at Bisous, or at the memory of "Maurice, dear". He did not remember Mother smiling at him on purpose.

He had much more urge to go like that, the small amount of fear he had felt before about the mask had disappeared. If God and Mother will take care nothing bad happens, he can be sure everything will be all right. As Mother said good bye to Bisous and asked him to follow her, is heart bet rapidly from happiness and he was hardly able to breathe out of excitement.

They were walking on the dirt road which led to the main street of the village, he jumped around Mother in excitement, and she was so beautiful in rays of sunlight. She was much more beautiful in her nice Sunday dress and warm smile, she looked less pale than at home, her cheeks had a rosy tint, and her cherry lips showed a delighted smile for the first time in his life. He felt he was looking nice as well, he had a full suit, cravat, waistcoat and a pair of shoes he was never allowed to wear before. As he felt, save for the mask, he looked like any other young children going to Mass.

Looking around, he was now able to see more houses, as they were reaching towards the center of the village. A few people were walking around them, heading to the opposite direction, and they greeted Mother, but did not notice him, as Mother made him hide behind her skirt, not to notice the masked child. He understood he had to hide and did not fuss about it, but he got more and more curious about the buildings that surrounded them. He was turning his head around curiously and in awe. He pointed at one of the bigger buildings, and asked:

\- What is that?

\- A tavern.

\- And what's that for?

\- It is not a good building. It is for people to do sinful things like drinking and fighting. They drink the "holy water" you accidentally had the other day.

Boy made a face beneath the mask, remembering back the odd taste of the liquid, and feeling disgusted he did not feel like forcing on the subject any longer, losing interest about the building, but he noticed yet another nearby.

\- And that one? – He asked.

\- That is the school.

\- What is school? – He went on.

\- It is the place where children go to study.

\- Why don't I have to go there then?

\- Because… because you don't have to any more. You can read and write already… well writing isn't your forte yet and I expect you to get better soon… but… you are already… clever enough.

Mother had much more patience to explain things to him than before, yet Boy sensed subconsciously that school wasn't unavailable to him because he was already too smart, but because of the mask and danger… and he was even surer he was taken to the village when the least people were around because of the mask. He knew people were already going home from the place they were heading to, and he did not understand what they had to do there when no one else was around. Will his all life be about hiding from people?

Arriving to the biggest building he had ever seen, Boy was amazed of the size and beauty of the house they stood in front of, and he was speechless examining all the decoration of the stone put on the building. How did they do that? What are these at all?

\- Mother! Mother!

\- Don't be so loud. What happened? Come we must go inside.

\- Inside is so beautiful too? – Boy inquired with excitement, putting his foot up to the upper step of the stairs to reach his shoelace.

\- What are you doing? – Mother asked with surprise and a bit of annoyance.

\- Removing shoes.

\- What has gotten into your mind? – She shook her head. – You must not remove your shoes before entering church.

\- Is this church? – Boy stood up, examining the building more.

\- Yes it is. It is God's house.

\- And we are visitors? – Boy asked.

\- Yes, we are visiting church.

\- Then God is a kinder host than you. – Boy pointed at Mother, who sent a shocked little glance towards him.

\- You are talking nonsense again.

\- No, because God does not want you to remove your shoes before entering his house, while you do. Even Uncle has to remove his. I know because once I put a toad in his shoes while he was visiting.

\- I always knew it was you. – Mother sighed. – But now stop talking nonsense as usual. You promised me you will be a good boy, didn't you?

He nodded, walking next to Mother towards the door. He tried his best to stay quiet, but when they entered and he noticed the fresco on the ceiling, he did not know what to think of it right away, and of course it resulted in the usual act of children meeting a new thing: he asked. Loudly.

\- Mother how did that picture go up there?

\- Hush. – Mother silenced him, as church was a place where one could hear his own voice more times louder than at home. Boy right away started to think how that can be.

\- What happened to my voice? It is louder. If I yell something what happens?

\- It is impolite to yell in church. – Mother explained softly. – Father is coming to see us, please be polite and say hello as I taught you.

Boy noticed a tall man heading towards them. He wore all black, and it looked like he was wearing a dress like women, which made Boy a bit of confused if he should address him "Monsieur' or 'Madame', but after some brief thinking, he came to the decision he will use 'Monsieur", as the figure looked more like a man in general.

\- Bonjour Monsieur! – He cheered, partly because he wished to show he was a polite boy as Mother asked him to be, and partly because he wanted to try out what happens to his voice if he speaks loudly. He was amazed it filled out the whole room, getting powerful and ringing in the air by full force.

\- Forgive him, Father. – Mother said softly.

\- I have nothing to forgive him for. – The man replied, turning to Mother with a serious expression. – He can't do anything better, can he?

The tall man leaned closer to him and with a kind intonation, he started speaking to him.

\- Little Bastien, if you meet me, you ought to say hello to me as "Good morning, Father".

\- Are you boy's father? – He rolled his eyes in confusion.

\- How dare you? – Geneviéve gasped in shock, but the priest waved towards her.

\- In a way, I am the father of everyone in the village, but I am not your Papa, Bastien. He passed away when you were just a baby.

\- Who is Bastien? – Boy rolled his eyes yet again.

\- You, my boy. – The priest looked at him in surprise. – Did you not know?

\- No. – Boy shook his masked little head. – Mother never called me that.

\- She would better start to call you by your name, then. – The deep voice sounded strictly now, with a hint of accusation. – And I think she shall explain in a confession why did she not take you here earlier and why didn't she use your proper name.

Looking behind his back, boy noticed Mother silently weeping into her handkerchief and was only able to whisper softly.

\- Forgive me, Father.

\- We will need to talk. Soon. – The priest sighed, but turned back to Bastien. – Do you know why we are here, Bastien?

\- Mother said she will show me how to be a good boy.

\- Right answer. And to get closer to God.

\- I can see how this building is huge. – Boy nodded. – God sure can see me better from here than at home, our house is smaller.

\- Oh, God can see you everywhere. – He laughed out. – Never forget you are seen by God and he knows what you do. This is why you have to behave well, not to make God sad.

\- And how can I make God happy?

\- This is what I will tell you every Sunday. Mother and you will come here after Mass every Sunday and we will talk about God together.

\- Sounds good enough. – Bastien shrugged, but to be honest, other things interested him much more. For example the question how big and long of a paintbrush the person should have owned who painted the picture up there on the ceiling, and how did his voice get so powerful… and that… what are those metal pipes on the wall at the other end of the room? They are huge and they are full of holes. What a strange thing, if the pipes have holes, what is the use of them?

\- Are you looking at the organ, Bastien?

\- What is an organ? – He asked with growing interest, hoping the Kind Father will at least explain him everything.

\- It is a musical instrument which help us to admire God.

\- Musical… music…! – Bastien gasped in excitement and he could literally not help himself, he stomped his feet against the ground and did small jumps in a sudden fit of eager.

\- Do you happen to like music?

\- Yes… yes… - Bastien nodded impatiently.

He was partly afraid he will be punished because he could not stay calm, and asked too much things, but the priest seemed to be happy he was so enchanted by the thought of the organ and going to church. And something unbelievable happened…

He was taken to the organ. The priest showed him the instrument, which was much more interesting than the piano at home. He could not wait to know it better, to explore it, and to his biggest surprise the kind Father allowed him to sit at the keyboard. He wasn't yet tall enough to be able to reach the pedals with his feet, so he kept jumping on and off of the organ bench. He did not know how much time flew like this, but he was allowed to do whatever he wanted, and for the first time in his life, he was seen by someone else other than Mother, and treated kindly… and he wasn't punished for being around other people… and he was allowed to play music…

\- Your son is gifted, Geneviéve! He has such a talent in music, God sure gave him a gift.

Bastien heard a sentence when he had to rest for a few seconds when the mask was already a wet mess against his small deformed face. He was panting a bit, and hearing this applause behind his back only encouraged him even more.

\- I have to admit music is something he can do well. – Mother sighed softly. – But what is the use of it? I mean God gave him a gift, but took the most important thing away from him. He has no use of any talent as long as he looks …

\- What I hear? – The Priest thundered. – Geneviéve, do you dare to question God's decision and say blasphemous things in his house? You have to learn a lesson! God has a plan with every soul. He has a plan with Bastien as well. And we have to help him the best we can, to achieve God's will.

\- How? – The woman asked. – I thought it was enough if you, Father, teach him to the Bible and morals… I already taught him to write and read and he can count well. He multiplies four digit numbers.

\- By the age of six? – The priest gasped.

\- Yes, I don't know how he can do it.

\- It is against God's will to hide such a clever mind.

\- And what shall I do?

\- Give him knowledge. Teach him. Give him books to read.

\- About what?

\- Everything. – The priest nodded knowingly. – As I know he can't be schooled… the original way… he can't grow up like this! He has to learn.

\- I want to learn. – The boy admitted, hoping Mother won't slap him later because he talked while grown up people were conversing.

\- It is your only chance. – The priest nodded sadly.

What came after this, was partly good and partly boring for the boy. The Father explained him the basics of the religion and the ceremonious hand gestures. He did not like this part too much, as it reminded him of the scene when Mother trained Bisous to stand on two paws to beg for a treat, or to roll on the carpet. When this part finally ended, the Priest asked him if he had any questions about the things they had learned that day.

\- How can someone draw a picture on the ceiling? – He asked the only question he could think of the whole time.

\- Oh! – Surprisingly the priest wasn't angry because he asked something out of context, rather he laughed out shortly. – I see you are interested in arts of any forms?

\- Yes, and nice buildings like this one.

\- There are nicer buildings than this one. – The priest slipped a huge book in front of the boy, and smiled. – Here is a book of beautiful artworks and architecture.

\- What is architecture?

\- It is the art of creating beautiful buildings. Take this book home with you, child, and read it. When you come back next Sunday, we will talk about God again… and you can ask me anything you want to talk about in this book you don't understand.

Boy was so happy, he nearly cried, and Mother seemed to be happier than usual. She warned him not to drop the book as they were walking home, and told Bastien he needed to take great care of the book. Not to spill or write anything on any of the pages.

\- You received a huge chance from the Father, don't ruin it.

\- I want to know everything possible. – The boy's eyes lit up in happiness.

\- I know how you feel. – She nodded. – But you need to pay attention to God's words as well. Not only architecture and art.

\- I try my best.

\- I think I know a way you can achieve it. I am going to teach you psalms to sing and play. You know, organs are for those. Psalm is what you sing at church. They are like prayers.

\- Prayers in music are much better. – He stated.

\- We ought to save your soul. – Mother sighed as she looked at the excited boy, who could not wait to finally read and look at the book he got.

It was half past eleven, when Geneviéve opened the door of that normally abandoned room of the house, noticing the boy laying on the top of the bed on his stomach, still dressed, reading the book in total darkness.

\- Bastien… - It was the first time she said that name out loud

The boy, not knowing at first it was his name being called, not being used to having a name, did not look up, but suddenly he heard the sweetest voice ever saying:

\- Please put away that book. It is enough for today.

He obeyed, and while that, Mother said such a kind thing he never heard before….

\- Don't read in the dark. It damages your eyes.

Several years later, in an abandoned dark room at the fifth cellar of the Paris Opera House, a bony finger caressed the spine of the album of great architectural artwork, and a dreamy sigh escaped those malformed lips. This was the first book he bought for himself when he was finally in the financial stability to be able to buy any, and though the book did not exactly look like the one he borrowed from Father, the memories he linked to the book were the same, and they were so sweet to recall.

It happened so rarely he could find sweet memories in his earlier life.


End file.
